


to love and be loved in return

by powelli



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Fake Chop, Fluff, M/M, and cheesy, i guess?, so get a load of that huh, some sexy stuffs??? just in the beginning tho also im bad at that stuff so skIP IT u kno, this is bad for the record
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 01:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powelli/pseuds/powelli
Summary: Brett is a cop. A good one, at that. Until he meets some asshole.Fate is funny that way.





	to love and be loved in return

[WINTER](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6QBaZHltJw)

Brett is driving home on a highway when a sleek black car zooms past him. He thinks, _idiot_ , because it’s nine at night and he’s obviously in a squad car, but it seems that some people just don’t give a shit. He almost considers just leaving it. But the car is just so fucking obnoxious. So he sighs and changes his lane to drive after it.

He turns on his sirens maybe halfway through the pursuit, and that’s when the guy seems to realise that he got caught and falls back. He swerves haphazardly to pull over, and Brett slows to a stop behind him when it seems safe-ish. He sits there for a second and takes his sweet time reaching over to pull his notepad from the glove compartment and scrawling down the license plate. It’s registered to Nevada, which isn’t exactly unusual, but it’s notable. Probably just some guy visiting family for the holidays. Except it’s Christmas Day. And it’s not like anywhere, apart from a handful of chain stores and restaurants, are open. So, unless this guy is on a mission to serve a KFC bucket at the family dinner, there’s no real reason to be speeding.

He tucks the notepad into his pocket, checks his gun has it’s safety on, and gets out of the car to wander up to the window. The window is already rolled down, and he smells the weed before he even sees the guy sitting in the driver’s seat.

He’s young and scrawny with a mess of brown hair and half-finished tattoos up and down what he can see of his arms, partially concealed by the rolled-up sleeve of a dark hoodie. He has squinty eyes and a sharp nose, with the beginning of a fairly weak moustache. Brett forces a smile.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Hey there,” the guy says, and there’s a hint of an accent there.

“D’you know why I pulled you over?” Brett drones, looking past him to peer into the car. It looks fairly plain. Could be a rental.

“I was, uh, speeding, right? Yeah, I’m _real_ sorry, man. I’m kind of in a rush.”

“…Right,” Brett carefully responds, and he wonders if this kid is even old enough to drive. He doesn’t look like it. “May I see your license, proof of insurance, and registration?”

The question is protocol, but he can already predict this kid not having at least one of those things. But he reaches over into his glove compartment anyway, and withdraws a wallet, hurriedly leafing through it and retrieving exactly what he asked for.

“Thanks.”

He takes the cards and peers at them. Aleksandr Marchant is the kid’s name. He’s twenty-five. He looks up, between the ID photo and the guy anxiously staring at the asphalt beneath Brett’s feet. He hands them back.

“Have you been consuming anything you shouldn’t have? Alcohol, drugs, anything?” He asks, feeling the questions roll out as instinct. He really just wanted to get home.

“Not that I know of, officer,” Aleksandr practically purred, and Brett feels himself bristle in response. He hated when they tried to flirt. As if it would get them out of anything.

“Okay, could you step out of the vehicle?”

The door opens, and he steps out. Aleksandr is around the same height as him, maybe only slightly shorter, and is, yeah, really scrawny. His hoodie is joined by a pair of brown pants and black sneakers and he _definitely_ doesn’t match the obnoxiousness of his car.

“Gonna just test you for a, uh, D-U-I, is that okay?” Brett asked, preoccupied with taking a few steps back without wandering into the highway.

“Sure,” Aleksandr responds, and he leans against the car as Brett holds up a hand in front of his face, one finger extended and pointed towards the sky.

“Just follow my finger with your eyes.”

Then the test begins, with Brett slowly drifting his finger to the right, and watching Aleks’ eyes track them. They’re a nice shade of brown, dark in the night but the highlights of honey in them brightened by the headlights from Brett’s car. All in all, he doesn’t do well, barely tracking the movement with skittish eyes, especially when Brett sharply changes direction. It takes about two minutes before he gives up, satisfied, and drops his hand.

“Did I pass?”

Brett looks up and gives him his best _are you serious_ look. He’s greeted with Aleksandr’s coy smile.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to drive you back to the station,” he doesn’t miss the flicker of… something in Aleks’ eyes. It looked like excitement or anxiety or something along those lines, but he nods, and, with Brett’s quiet permission, opens the car to overtly bend over the driver’s seat to grab his wallet and phone. Brett averts his eyes. “You got anyone to pick up the vehicle?”

Aleks shoves the items in his pocket and closes the door. “No.”

Brett glances over to it. “Okay, well. We can call a garage when we get to the station. Could you make your way over to the car?”

“No handcuffs?” Brett startles, and looks over at Aleks, who is grinning at him. Brett blinks at him.

“Mr. Marchant, do you really want me to put you in handcuffs?”

“Aleks, my man.”

Brett rolls his eyes.

“Okay, _Aleks_ , do you really want me to feed into your weird handcuff kink?”

Aleks seems to consider this for a moment. Then he puts his wrists out in front of him, and Brett is already unclipping his handcuffs from his belt. He clasps them around Aleks’ wrists with a click that sounds much more final than it should’ve, and then he’s marching him to the car, opening the back door, and gently ushering him in. The door slams closed, and Brett gets into the driver’s seat and takes a moment to pull out his phone to search for the next exit.

“Oh, you snapchatting this?” Aleks quips from the back, and Brett looks at him in the rear-view mirror with a quirked brow. “Yeah, caption that shit; just picked up a hot twink, hashtag ‘blue lives matter’. Make sure to, uh, tag me.”

Brett almost laughs, because, yeah, the kid is funny. But he suppresses it by ducking his head to look back down to his phone and find the nearest exit – a mile ahead. That was just fine. He starts the car again, and begins to drive, entering the highway again. Aleks falls quiet in the back.

“What you doin’ here, man?” Brett asks, finally, really only to break the silence.

“Uh, in your car? Well, you-“

“No, you little shit,” and Aleks barks out a laugh at that. “On Christmas. You’re young, you ain’t got, like, a mom to help carve the turkey?”

“Yeah, not really. I don’t live here, so.”

“Uh-huh. I saw the licence plate. Nevada, huh?”

“It’s a rental.”

“Oh,” Brett eloquently put. He turned out onto the exit.

The radio was playing some sort of eighties pop song, peppy and ruled by a female voice, belting out lyrics with the sort of passion he guessed you only got back then. It was familiar. And not great.

“What about you, dude?” Aleks speaks up, and a quick look in the mirror shows him swivelled around on the seat and practically lying down against the window.

“Hm?” Brett responded, only half-listening. They passed by a Taco Bell, and he looks longingly at the neon logo.

“You’re on patrol, on Christmas. That’s kinda shit.”

“I don’t really celebrate it.”

“No friends?”

Brett started at the question. It wasn’t true, for one. He just didn’t really have family nearby. Also, he got extra pay for holidays. So, there was that. In the end, he settled to ignore his question, instead focusing on the road ahead. They were in the part of Los Santos inhabited purely by fast-food restaurants, bright lights glinting in Brett’s peripheral as they neared the station.

“Hey,”

“Jesus. You know you have the right to remain silent, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, pull over.”

“What? If you’re gonna be sick, I swear-“

“No, man. I’m really fucking hungry. _Please_ pull over into that McDonalds.” Aleks practically demanded, and Brett looked to where he was referencing. The McDonalds sign was high up, bright and enticing, followed by an electronic board, displaying a simple ‘OPEN’. That was rare. He considered it and, yeah, he _was_ hungry.

“Will it make you shut up?”

“Sure.”

So he moved out of the lane and into the McDonalds, hesitating at the entrance before steering into the drive-thru. He stalled at the menu, and peered out to look at it.

“Just to clarify, I’m getting a McFlurry,”

“Whatever, man. Here. Get me a Big Mac thing with a coke.” A twenty dollar bill was pushed through the cage divide between him and Aleks, and Brett took it from over his shoulder as he rolled up to the speaker, which crackled with the standard greeting. Brett ordered the food, and rolled up to the next window to pay.

Then they collected in a matter of a minute or so, and Brett hesitated then. He soon elected to pull into a parking lot, and sat there for a second, bag of hot food burning his lap. A harsh sigh later, he grabbed the drink and McFlurry from the passenger seat and got out of the car, moving to open the backseat door and wordlessly ordering Aleks to move up with a nod.

He sat down next to him, not even wanting to think about how fucking stupid he must seem. The door was slammed, and Brett stared out, at the beginning of snow. Tonight was one of rarities, he guessed.

The food was tossed into Aleks’ lap and he, still handcuffed, sifted through it to carefully lift the cases of food individually. Brett watched him, slowly eating his rapidly melting ice cream.

“You got the munchies, huh?”

“What?” Aleks asked, mouth full of fries.

“The – the munchies.”

“Oh. I’m not high.”

And normally Brett would laugh that off with a _yeah, right_ and continue to eat his frankly delicious ice cream without even entertaining the thought again, but Aleks was looking at him in a way that he just knew that he was being honest. His spoon paused halfway to his mouth as their gazes locked.

“What?” Brett asked, as if he was hearing things.

“…I’m not high?” Aleks said slowly.

“Your car reeked of weed,”

“Yeah, again. It was a rental,” and then, to Brett’s lasting confusion, “…Meaning that it wasn’t mine.”

Brett blinked. “Okay – fine – but, like. The test, you failed. Horribly.”

“I, uh, don’t respond well under pressure.”

“Bullshit.”

Aleks grinned. “You got me.”

“…I got you?” Brett repeated, getting more confused by the second.

“Okay, so maybe I thought you were, like, super fucking hot, and I thought that maybe this would be the best way to get your number, or something. I don’t know.”

Brett dug his spoon back into his ice cream, stunned. He looked down at the Oreo flavoured now-liquid, and back to Aleks, almost trying to convince himself that this wasn’t actually happening. Aleks was staring at him with calm eyes, chewing a mouthful of burger casually.

“This - this is probably a crime. Deceiving a police officer, or something.” Brett tried, feeling a flush starting on his face.

“Nah.”

“Nah?” Brett echoed.

“Nah.”

There’s a long pause.

“You’re too young for me,” Brett says, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness with the words.

Aleks snorts, closing the box for his burger, tucking it in the bag and throwing it to the floor. “That’s all you got?”

Brett thinks about it, before shrugging. He may as well go along with this game. “That’s about it, yeah. What _weren’t_ you lying about back there?”

As a response, Aleks holds up his handcuffed hands.

“Right,” Brett stiffly says, electing to look straight ahead instead.

There’s a cold hand on his bicep next.

“Hey,” Aleks mumbles, softer than he had seen him in the last thirty minutes or so they had known each other. “I really fuckin’ like you.”

“You don’t even know me. Fuck, you don’t even know my goddamn name.”

“Brett.”

“It’s – what? How did you know that?”

He holds up a wallet. Not his. Brett’s.

“Found your licence.”

“Oh, cute trick,” Brett mutters, snatching it and tucking it into his pocket. “Asshole.”

Aleks laughs, and then they’re quiet again. It’s dumb, but it’s almost okay for a second. They’re just two idiots sitting in the parking lot of a McDonalds, talking about their feelings for each other as total strangers, and Brett doesn’t believe in soulmates, but this. This could maybe be an exception, especially when Aleks looks at him like _that_. Aleks finishes his food, and Brett gives up on his watery ice cream, and then he’s not really sure what to do.

“Do you still want me to take you back to the station?” He dryly asks, hands flexing and unflexing on his knees, and then there’s Aleks’ freezing hands on his shoulder again, one dangling uselessly because of the handcuffs, and Brett looks, and, shit, is Aleks pretty.

His hairs a mess, eyes sleepy but somewhat alert, and one side of his face is just bathed in moonlight, effortlessly illuminating everything soft and angular about him at once. His lips are slightly parted and Brett looks between them and his eyes.

“Do you?” Aleks whispers, and it was cheesy, but that was it.

Something snaps in Brett’s chest, and he would call it Dutch courage that pushed him to kiss Aleks, but he wasn’t drunk, and the only thing he had eaten since lunch had been a reasonably shitty McFlurry, so he wasn’t really sure what to call that. But he kissed Aleks. That happened.

It was only a small kiss, rushed and unplanned, landing more on the corner of Aleks’ mouth than anything, and he cringed as he leant back, although he had about half a second to do so, because then Brett was being pushed against the car window with Aleks’ hands and being kissed, _properly_.

He decided that Aleks was a nice kisser. His hands tilt Brett’s head back to get a better angle, and he kisses gently, but the weight of the situation packs like a punch. Brett is frozen for a moment, far too focused on Aleks’ knee between his legs and the burning pooling in the pit of his stomach to do much of anything before he remembers to respond.

His hands move to hold Aleks at his waist and shifts against him. Aleks breaks away first.

“Shit, man,” he says, almost out of breath, and Brett snorts, tilting his head back. He hears Aleks sigh as he presses one foot against the car floor, head grazing the ceiling, and then he’s sweeping the other leg over Brett, straddling his hips with ease. Before he can run his mouth again, Brett kisses him again, feeling Aleks’ mouth move against his in precise movements. Brett reaches between them to grip the handcuffs there, and pulls them, bringing Aleks’ arms up. He moves away from the kiss to pull them up, between them, unclip the right one, and connect it to the passenger assist handle above the window. 

Aleks laughs. “This is gonna kill my arm,” but Brett ignores it, and focuses on hurriedly getting his belt off. His hands are shaking, and he fiddles with it for a good thirty seconds. His gun appears for a split second before it’s being placed on the floor and Aleks mutters something about being happy to see him, but he barely even hears it because then Aleks is reaching down with his free hand to carefully unbutton Brett’s pants, and then his own, and then he’s lifting his body to help Brett shimmy them off, and then-

Aleks’ phone rings.

At first he ignores it, still tugging at Brett’s pants and then his own. Brett moves his hands to help him at the hips.

The phone stops.  And then it rings again.

“You gonna get that?” Brett asks hoarsely as Aleks creeps a finger beneath the waistband of his boxers to pull them down. Brett looks away shyly when he hears Aleks lick down his hand, _gross_ , but then he forgets because Aleks’ hand is on his dick and moving so goddamn slowly his hips start to move on their own, twitching upwards. He looks back at Aleks just as-

“Hello?” Aleks asks, one hand holding the phone to his ear.

That was impossible, because Aleks’ hand was still on his dick, and-

He looks up. The handcuffs dangle from the assist, unclasped and with a pin sticking out of it. Goddamnit. Aleks’ hand stills suddenly, and Brett almost whines, feeling like such a fucking idiot, but Aleks makes a face at him, all bedroom eyes and a little bit angry, and that shuts him up.

“What? Yeah, no, I’m in a cop car,” he sighs, turning his head away. “No, I haven’t been- I’m kinda busy,” He rolls his eyes at Brett. “You want me to- now? That’s not for another, like, a month or something, right? Jesus.”

Brett covers his eyes with his arm.

“James is – he’s already on his way. Okay, yeah, whatever. Fine,” and then he hangs up, thumb pressing against the screen so hard Brett was almost convinced the screen would crack. Aleks looks at him and down at his other occupied hand as if he had forgotten what they were in the middle of.

Elvis was playing on the radio.

“Oh,” he softly said, moving his hand away despite Brett’s groan. “You can finish yourself off, right?”

Brett prayed he misheard. “What?”

“Got a thing.” Aleks begins to zip up his pants, buttoning them easily and adjusting his hoodie. And then he’s getting off Brett, wiping the saliva and precum off his hand on Brett’s pants. “Sorry, man.”

He backs off, and opens the door by Brett’s feet, letting in a rush of cold air. Brett rushes to get himself decent, because Aleks stands there for a moment, looking at him, before he grins. “Merry Christmas, or whatever.” The door slams, and he watches Aleks stalk away from him and through the parking lot, lighting a cigarette as he walks.

Brett lies there for a minute.

_What an asshole._

Then he picks himself up, gets back in the front seat, and begins to drive home.

When he goes back to work, day after boxing day, they’re all called into a meeting in the board room. A peppy woman introduces a poorly constructed slideshow to them, and Brett sleeps through most of it, until two police sketches and CCTV images bounce onto the board in possibly the worst transition ever created. The woman is saying something about gang activity, and arson, and murder, and armed robbery, but he’s barely listening, because all he can focus on is the coy smile in one of the photos.

It’s Aleks.

[SPRING](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fP8qJKr39A)

He next meets Aleks when he’s eaten shit on the highway. Funny how karma works. He steps under police tape, flashing a newly shiny badge to a paramedic, who waves him in, towards the man they’re performing an impromptu blood transfusion on. Brett spares a glance towards the body, but immediately glances away. He was once told it was sort of rude to look at people when they were that injured.

He instead decides to focus on the scene. A car, flipped over, one door open. They’re sort of unsure of what happened, but they know that the man on the road was some sort of getaway.

The car was chased all the way from a bank downtown, after an armed robbery was called in. He was solo. It’s assumed the accomplices found their own escape, but there’s no indication of where they went. All they have is this asshole.

Brett moves to peer in the car. The stereo is still playing, loudly. An Elvis song, one he can’t name for the life of him. He ignores it, and instead angles his head to try to look into the backseat. There’s nothing there – just a discarded plastic bag. Boring stuff. He would try looking in the trunk, but it’s dented to shit, and it’s likely they’d need a crowbar or two to get in. Instead, he looks back.

A second ambulance has arrived, and two more paramedics are trying to load the man onto a stretcher and get him in the vehicle. Brett rushes ahead, pushing his way past two of the remaining paramedics to begin to get into the ambulance.

“Hey, police. I need to accompany this man to the hospital.”

“You got ID?”

Brett sighs, and fumbles in his pocket to get his badge, flashing it at them. He’s waved in, again, and awkwardly moves to take a seat by the guy, who’s being carefully lowered onto a slab of blue, plastic-y padding. He looks around before finally looking at the guy’s face.

 _You’ve got to be shitting me_.

Covered in dry and flaking blood, with two black eyes and a busted lip, is one Aleksandr Marchant.

And yeah, it’s only been a few months or something ( _ninety-eight days_ ) but he’s still fucking pissed. Aleks strolls into his life, makes him fall in love with him in a matter of half an hour, and then leaves. And then it turns out he’s a fucking notorious gang member from some up-and-coming group who have caused a record number of arson cases since becoming known to the authorities.

He looks different. The obvious is that he’s had a haircut. His brown hair is short now, and he looks a little less scrawny, but that’s partially due to the oversized bomber jacket he’s wearing, which has been torn up from the impact of him on a moving road.

Aleks cracks an eye open and looks blearily around, before his eyes land on Brett.

He smiles, and it takes everything in Brett not to sock him then and there.

That, and the fact that an IV bag is being pressed into his hands and he’s being told to hold it up, so he does, watching the liquid stream into the tube piercing the back of Aleks’ left hand.

“Uh, hey,” Brett dumbly says, before shaking his head and starting again. “I’m gonna ask you a few questions.”

Aleks doesn’t respond. He looked pretty dosed up already.

“Okay. Could you tell me the names of any of your accomplices and where we can find them?”

“You’re still hot.”

Brett stills, and his hand instinctively squeezes the IV bag he’s holding, before he realises and loosens his grip again. “What?”

“The – the fuckin’ McDonalds, man. You were there,” Aleks babbles. “I left you, huh? I’m sorry.”

The paramedic tending to a wound on Aleks’ leg looks between them warily.

“It’s okay.”

Aleks reaches up, and presses a bloody hand to Brett’s. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Brett blinks, before looking away and sparing a glance to his notepad. “Yeah. So, like, what did you steal?”

Aleks is loyal, he’ll give him that. He doesn’t budge at a single question, just stares at Brett like he’s the light of his whole life, and it’s a little freaky. He’s promptly wheeled off as soon as the doors are tugged open and sunlight streams in, bouncing off the glass windows of the hospital. Brett almost forgets he’s clutching onto an IV bag until the line nearly pulls taut and suddenly he’s scampering out of the ambulance to race after him.

The bag is taken from him seconds later, and he’s helpless to watch Aleks get wheeled into the hospital.

He doesn’t see him until after he’s checked out. A doctor swung by Brett’s place in the waiting room and informed him that they were just removing shards of glass and the like from his skin. Nothing deadly, just some road injuries. Aleks was safely in a hospital room three hours later, cleaned of blood aside from his lip, which was still steadily bubbling blood from the surface wound.

Brett sat beside him, planting the KitKat he had gotten from the vending machine on the nearest surface with only slight resentment. Aleks stirred from his place on the bed, regarding Brett’s no-doubt blurry figure. The handcuff around his left wrist and clacked against the bedframe it was connected to. Brett eyed it with vague discomfort but was distracted when Aleks’ croaky voice sounded throughout the room.

“Y’know,” he began, broken up by a rough cough that made him visibly wince in pain. Ah – yeah, a few broken ribs may have been mentioned. “At least you didn’t catch me this time.”

Brett frowned and handed the KitKat to Aleks when he reached for it like a toddler. Aleks, seemingly pleased with the gift, unwrapped it and bit into it like an animal even as his jaw seemed to protest.

“Why d’you say that?” Brett asked, trying to sound as disinterested as humanely possible.

“’Cos you would’ve made me fuckin’ crush on you again,” Aleks mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate and wafer. Brett scrunched his nose up.

“I think we’ve known each other for a total of an hour, dude,” he replied after a second of self-deliberation. Then he sort of half-smiled. “But if you’re so in love with me, why don’t you tell me exactly what you were doin’ at that bank?”

Aleks laughed at him.

Brett startled, frowned, and got up, scraping his chair back on the linoleum. He felt a sort of unnatural frustration pool in his chest. Aleks regarded him with cool eyes and the blood from his lip had created a thin stream down his chin like he was some cheap vampire. Brett stared back, before gesturing to him with his notebook. “Stay away from me, okay? You’re obviously, uh, crazy, or somethin’.”

He stormed out then, but not before Aleks could call after him, “Crazy about you, _baby_.”

Brett threw his notepad against the wall in rage, startling a nearby nurse into swiftly turning on her heel and walking in the opposite direction.

 

[SUMMER](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1xrNaTO1bI)

“Brett! You made it!” Lindsey yelled across the pool before making the short trip around it, floppy sunhat partially concealing her face which had a further layer of sun protection in the form of circular black sunglasses, framing her smiling face perfectly. “Didn’t know if you were gonna come, to be honest.”

Brett tilted his head to the side, adjusting the black baseball cap over his mess of overgrown hair. He had gone for the pineapple shirt for the occasion. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

After a brief hug, Lindsey stepped back and although he couldn’t see her eyes, he could imagine the eyebrow quirk she was maintaining. “Oh, like you did the past two times?” She asked dryly, and Brett shrugged sheepishly.

“Well, you know. Not really my crowd.” It was true. Lindsey was a talent manager, getting quite big in the Hollywood area, and she was damn good at her job. And at pool parties. Her and Brett had been good friends forever, and even though her parties were full of bigshots and obnoxious actors, they were still fun. Occasionally.

He would admit, he had arrived sort of late. The sun was beginning to take on hues of purple and blue, the beginning of a sunset, but that wasn’t an issue. He knew the party would continue until the early hours of the morning, anyway.

“I know,” Lindsey replied, adjusting her hat. “Hey, you want a drink?”

Brett nodded. “A drink would be good, yeah.”

She sipped her orange cocktail whilst loosely pointing to the drinks table, maintained by a bartender she had hired. “Knock yourself out,” and then she was gone, excitedly chattering to someone he didn’t recognise. He smiled after her. They didn’t talk a whole lot at these parties – they had movie nights, brunches, the like, for talking. The parties were for free drinks and, in Lindsey’s case, a whole lot of networking.

Brett wandered over to the drinks table and inspected his choices, eventually settling on a weird-looking red mix in a tall glass, complete with a straw and a cute little umbrella. He sipped it – it just tasted like cranberry juice. Wow. Some bartender. He idly wondered if it was even alcoholic as he wandered around the party, slipping through chatting strangers and dancing drunks to make his way over to his usual spot.

The spot was a crème sofa strategically placed close enough to the bar to get drinks and not lose your seat but far enough from the pool not to be in the splash zone. It was usually empty. Not this time, though.

Because a blond man, in a very nice velvet suit, jacket unbuttoned and shirt partially so, was sitting in his place with a very pretty matching blonde in a glitzy dress practically on his lap as they talked lightly, interlaced with soft laughs and hushed words. Brett watched their backs for a while, trying to decide whether to interrupt them to ask to sit down or to just leave it, but a quick glance around the party just affirmed his need to not socialise.

So he puffed his chest out and approached the two.

“Hey, excuse me. This seat is reserved, don’t know if-“ He stopped. Looked past the blonde’s blue eyes and hurried apologies, right into a barely familiar pair of brown eyes.

There was quiet, and the music thrumming throughout the party felt muffled in Brett’s ears. The woman between them laughed nervously and imparted one last apology and a goodnight before leaving and catching up with a presumed group of friends, who all laughed in their direction. Brett took no notice.

“Hey,” Aleks said, and Brett could’ve just strangled him right then and there.

Aleks, in Brett’s defence, looked very different. His hair had been dyed a platinum although the dark roots were clearly visible beneath the near-white façade. He looked broader, now. Older, somehow, although it had been mere months since their last meeting. The suit looked expensive. _He_ looked expensive.

“Hey,” Brett thickly replied, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. Maybe it was the drink finally taking effect. Maybe not. He hoped it was the drink.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Aleks said, just as Brett said, “What are you doing here?”

There was a pause, before Aleks sighed. “Because I’m,” and then he practically mocked him, waving a hand in the air like he was struggling to remember the word he was thinking of. “…Rich now?”

“No, asshole,” Brett huffed. “How’d you get out of the hospital? Shouldn’t you be in juvy or somethin’ right about now?”

Aleks threw back his head and laughed. “I have my ways.”

Brett scowled.

“What’re you doing here, officer?” and then Aleks had the nerve to pat the seat next to him all whilst crossing his legs so that his left ankle was neatly resting on his right knee. Brett considered walking away right then, but, against his better judgement, he sat down next to him, sitting stiffly upright and purposely trying to act as unbothered as possible.

“I was invited,” Brett replied.

Aleks scoffed. “By who?”

Brett spent a moment surveying their surroundings until he spotted Lindsey across the pool, enthusiastically speaking to a colleague Brett had met once or twice. He couldn’t remember their name. He gestured to her. “Lindsey.”

Aleks seemed to startle then, looking between Brett and her. “How do you know Lindsey?”

Brett blinked. “How do _you_ know Lindsey?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but it was interrupted by the sudden burst of music from speakers. Some unfamiliar song, but it got most of the partygoers squealing and rushing to what Brett supposed was the improvised dancefloor. He turned back to Aleks, who was watching the group with a faint smile. He had put sunglasses on. _What a prick,_ Brett thought, _wearing sunglasses at night._ Nonetheless, Aleks looked back at him, lips quirked up in a faint smile, and Brett felt his chest tighten. He prayed he was going into cardiac arrest if only to escape this party.

The music was deafening, and Aleks was saying something.

“What?” Brett asked, slightly loud, and Aleks leant closer, so that his frame was nearly hovering over the left side of Brett, face grazing his, and breath warm on his face.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Aleks didn’t move, but Brett did, with an abhorrent glare and a slight scoff.

“Yeah,” he yelled over the music, “I don’t think so, bud.”

That seemed to be Aleks’ cue to get up, because he did, stretching as soon as he did and grazing a hand over Brett’s knee before he silently departed, seemingly sulking. Brett watched him with disinterested eyes as he wandered across the property, towards the exit. The exit that was on the other side of the pool Aleks seemingly had no interest in avoiding.

He stepped into the pool and, in Brett’s eyes, everything seemed to slow down slightly. The music faded, the bass boost eerily quiet in his ears. There was a moment of still. And then there was a splash, and a flash of Aleks’ red frame sinking to the bottom, before Brett found himself bolting out of his seat, feet seemingly moving on their own. He was dimly aware that a few people had reacted, calling out Aleks’ name or lingering around the poolside.

Brett doesn’t know why he does it – but he does. He jumps in right after the fucker and grabs a handful of that ugly jacket before pushing off the pool floor as soon as they sink enough to reach it, right towards the surface. There’s a moment where they’re just floating there, Brett’s arms around Aleks’ limp frame, the music muffled, until they’re breaking surface. Aleks gasps for air, as does Brett, and once they’re back to the poolside, heaved up on the patio floor, it takes everything in Brett not to kill him right there and then.

“What are you fucking doing?” Brett cries, doing his best to ignore the sting of chlorine in his nose.

Aleks just laughs.

He doesn’t know how, but he ends up walking Aleks back to his car only two hours later.

Luckily for him, the criminal was apparently popular enough to get a change of clothes from… someone. Hopefully not a corpse. But it’s a plain white shirt and black trousers, a little tight, but still reasonably okay-looking. He guessed. Aleks doesn’t look drunk – he doesn’t stumble, or slur, or  anything, and Brett’s a cop but he doesn’t carry a breathalyser. So he lets it slide.

The trek up the hill takes longer than expected, and is mostly in silence. At one point, they pass a clearing by the side of the road, a decent view over Los Santos, and they stand in silence for a moment, looking out at the night sky and the city lights below. The sky is a blend of purples and blues, dotted with perfect little stars, and it takes Brett’s breath away just a little. Aleks flexes his hands by his sides.

“Not bad, huh?” Brett says quietly, to himself really, but Aleks nods.

“Yeah dude,” he mumbles, scuffing his soaked shoes on the asphalt. “I’ve seen worse.”

There’s a single tree nearby, and Aleks approaches and leans against it to take off his left shoe and twist the remaining pool water out of it with a grunt. Brett glances at him, then back at the view, trying to muster up the most casual tone possible.

“Why’d you do it?”

“I told you, dude. I don’t know, I just fuckin’ wanted to jump in the pool, what can I-“

“No,” Brett cuts him off, and Aleks blinks at him. “Why’d you – Why did you kiss me. That first night.”

Aleks regards him with a sullen stare.

“I didn’t.”

“ _Yes_ , you did.”

Aleks tugs his shoe back on with a angry exclamation and begins to stalk towards Brett, hands moving into his pockets. Brett flinches a little – this was a criminal, after all. Soon enough, they were centimetres apart, Aleks’ chest brushing his.

“Didn’t mean shit,” he practically spits, and it feels like venom to Brett for some discernible reason. He, in some odd method of self-defence, shoots out a hand to grab Aleks’ left wrist.

“Tell me who the fuck you are,” He hisses. “I’m sick of the long game; I want answers _now_ , man.”

Aleks scoffs. “You know who I am.”

“I know you’re Aleksandr Marchant – if that’s even your real name – and that you have a handcuff kink. You were involved in a bank robbery in Spring. You’re an asshole.”

“Uh, did you know _this_?” and then he leant in close, and Brett’s heart picked up again. Goddamnit. “I fucked your mom, dude.”

Brett groaned, and shoved away a cackling Aleks in disgust, who  stumbled slightly before regaining his footing, eyes squeezed shut as he laughed incessantly. Brett fixed him with a glare. “Fuck you, man.”

Aleks kept laughing, and Brett glanced at the car key in his hand and back at Aleks. He could stab him right now and nobody would know. He nearly considered it for a moment, but then Aleks was hurriedly apologising and, shit. He really did like Aleks, in all his idiocy and incompetence. And even in his criminal record.

Aleks was nearing again, swatting a loose hand with a laugh. “I’m – I’m sorry, man.”

Brett scowled.

“No, I’m serious,” Aleks continued, and then he was reaching out and grabbing Brett’s hand. His hands were cold and clammy, and Brett had half the mind to snatch his hand away and stalk off into the night but for some inexplicable reason, he lets it happen. Aleks, for a soft second, looks right into his eyes when he speaks.

“Let me – let me make it up for, uh, _to_ you.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Brett replied numbly, observing how Aleks’ slim fingers fluttered over his knuckles.

“Fuckin’ – fuckin’ meet me at wherever, dude,” Aleks slurred, and Brett frowned. Was the alcohol finally kicking in?

His question was answered only a few seconds later, when Aleks leant in for a kiss. Brett dodged, of course, and it seemed it was the right move because then Aleks doubled over and threw up on his shoes. Brett watched him with pitiful eyes, patted his back, walked him back to his car and made him sit in the passenger seat whilst he called an Uber for the dumbass.

His last sight of Aleks was him slumped in the seat of a prepaid Uber, eyes unusually soft and hands limp by his sides, mumbling something incoherent.

That was it for them.

 

[FALL](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQOPqc6zxYg)

Until it wasn’t.

“Oh,” Brett exhaled as he made eye contact with the very relaxed Aleks across the town’s plaza.

Aleks was all rolled up sleeves of white canvas shirts and clean platinum hair when Brett encountered him again whilst on vacation in Russia. He had been wandering through the small town, stopping by the local chemist’s to pick up some aspirin for his quickly developing headache, and eating a sandwich by the harbour when he had spotted the bastard, reclining in a seat outside a café, book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, held precariously at the rim by his fingertips as he swished the liquid around. The sun was setting in the sky, casting dark reds and browns onto the land below, and Brett nearly fled right there. His sneakers felt glued to the ground, though, so he stood there for a moment, plastic bag tightly gripped in his left hand as he stared down the figure only a few metres away.

Aleks finally seemed to notice someone was watching him and glanced up, sunglasses balanced on the end of his sharp nose and book marked by his thumb between the pages. Brett noticed he was holding a cigarette between two of the fingers holding the cup.

Russia was at that funny time of year between the scorching heatwaves that passed through during summer and the biting cold that seemed to last throughout winter. The week had been surprisingly warm – a sort of drowsy coolness lingered in the air, warm enough to wear shorts, even. But a cold sweat ran over Brett when Aleks made eye contact with him, and it chilled him to the bone.

Neither of them said anything. Brett knew he should just walk away – go back to the villa and lie in bed for the rest of the evening, scrolling through Twitter and checking his work emails obsessively, but instead they just stared, like two cowboys in an old western movie. Aleks was the first to move – he shut the paperback he was reading with an audible slap and carefully placed it in his backpack by the legs of the chair. The cup was carefully placed on the round table, the cigarette put out in the ashtray. And then he was standing, fishing a colourful note from his wallet he withdrew from his pocket and placing it beneath the ashtray. The backpack was slung over one shoulder and after he shot one last disgruntled look in Brett’s direction, he was off.

 _You beautiful creature_ , was all Brett could think – it played in a loop in his head like a symphony for a reason he couldn’t quite articulate.

He shook his head, and continued on his way, the bottle of aspirin clacking around in the bag.

The way back to the villa wasn’t especially far. Brett had cycled there, so he hadn’t far to travel anyway. He found his bike where he had left it, tucked between two trees and neatly tied to one of them. He undid the rope with fiddly hands before placing the bag in the basket and beginning to move, cycling down the narrow road with ease, having memorised the way by now. He was a little over halfway there when he was startled by some shouting.

He wasn’t one for gossip, and didn’t _mean_ to stop, but it was growing louder and emerging from a nearby inn. He slowed to a stop just outside the open door, observing the golden light streaming from inside. Soon enough, though, it became apparent that it was yells of joy, of conversation. He’s not sure why he settles in relief – it’s not like he could even intercept if it was hostile. He didn’t exactly have authority abroad.

He placed his foot on the pedal again, ready to depart, before the door swung open further, the shouts heightening. Brett didn’t speak very good Russian, but he was sure they were yelling something akin to goodbyes. Brett looked up to the departed.

Aleks seemed as though he hardly noticed him as he swung around the doorframe, the ghost of laughter on his features as he began to stroll down the road, backpack bouncing on his back. Brett, against his better judgement, pushed down on the pedal and began to move, not fast enough to overtake him immediately, but enough to ride at the same pace as he walked. As soon as they were relatively close, Aleks seemed to spare a glance to his left and visibly tense just as Brett spoke.

“Are you following me?”

Aleks scowled. “What? No.”

Brett rolled his eyes, considering just cycling away, before Aleks decided to speak again. “Why are _you_ here?”

“Vacation,” he responded stiffly, and that made Aleks scoff. “What?”

“You won’t take Christmas off to spend it with, uh, I don’t know, literally _anyone_ , but you took time off in fuckin’ _fall_ to come to _Russia_?”

Brett wilted at that, and considered lying, but figured it probably wasn’t worth it.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s not really a vacation. I’m, uh. Staying with a family. Finishing my doctorate,” He responded, eyes cast off somewhere distant as he spoke, still pedalling at a much slower pace. The bike wobbled a little when he slowed down too much though, so he settled to glide alongside Aleks, slightly ahead. Aleks himself seemed to be processing this information as he walked.

“…Cool, man,” he said unsurely. “What are you, uh, studying?”

“Film,” Brett responded, maybe a little too fast, and felt a twinge of self-consciousness at how Aleks smirked. “I want to produce, for the record. I’m not like a, uh, some _artsy_ dude, you know.”

“What’s Russia got for film?” Aleks asked, seeming genuinely disgruntled. He kicked a can on the sidewalk and pushed his bag further up his shoulder, glancing briefly to Brett.

“Oh, you know,” and Brett looked around for a moment, taking in their surroundings. They had entered the road leading away from the town – most of the houses around here had their own land so they were all rather spaced out. He could only see one in the distance – a white cottage, quite big, all long grass and what looked like an orchard behind it. A single light was on in the upper left window. “Scenery and stuff,” and then , to Aleks disbelieving stare, “Nah, I’m working with a director. Lives down the way, just here,” he gestured loosely ahead of him with one hand.

“Uh-huh,” Aleks monotoned. “You still a cop?”

Brett tilted his head. “Well, yeah. Part-time, of course,” they passed by a bakery, and Brett noticed how Aleks stared at the pastries in the window. He considered offering buying him one, but they were already a little while away from the shop, and it would be too strange to ask now. Another missed opportunity, he supposed. He brought his attention back to the conversation at hand. “What’re _you_ doing here, anyway?”

“Visiting family,” Aleks said quickly.

Brett glared at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously something illegal, you asshole.”

That made much more sense.  

“But, yeah. I’m staying in my grandma’s villa. So,” and then he almost seemed to hesitate. “This is a weird coincidence.”

“No kidding. You think it’s fate?”

“God, no.”

Aleks stopped outside a gate. Brett looked past it – it was the white house. He looked at it, then back to Aleks, then back to the house. Somehow the house didn’t suit him.

“This is me, so-“

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

They were quiet for a moment, Brett leaning off his bike with one foot on the ground, Aleks with one hand on the gate, seeming to consider something until he heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“Do you wanna, maybe, uh, come in?”

Brett blinked. “Are you serious?”

Almost immediately, Aleks seemed to bristle. “No. No, of course not. Fuck you, dude.”

He kicked the gate open and immediately winced. That had obviously hurt his foot. Fucking idiot. Brett took a moment to grin before holding up a hand.

“Hang on,” Aleks stopped. “I’m sorry. Yeah, I want to come in. If that’s still okay.”

Aleks gave him a firm nod, and left the gate open.

Brett scrambled off his bike and, after a second of deliberation, left it leaning against the fence surrounding the property, praying nobody decided to steal it. He lifted the bag from the basket and swung it by his side as he made his way up the paved path. Up ahead, Aleks was unlocking the door, and as soon as it swung open, there was a very excited dog bouncing around him, fur swaying in the light breeze and tongue hanging out of their smiling mouth. Aleks was talking to them, speaking in little clicks and foreign words, which stopped when Brett caught up. The dog looked up at him with sparkling eyes, gave a little yip, and rounded the two one last time before scuttering back inside, paws bouncing off the floorboards.

“Mishka,” Aleks offered as some sort of explanation, and Brett had to assume he was referring to the dog. Then he stepped inside, followed by Brett, who closed the door softly and turned, observing his surroundings.

For one, the cottage was much larger inside than it appeared. They were standing in the kitchen, a spacious room with teal wallpaper and a light wooden table in the corner. One chair. The counters looked clean and somewhat unused.

Brett followed Aleks further into the house, making sure to toe off his boots before embarking further. Aleks stood in the lounge. There was no television, just a coffee table and two sofas. One wall was lined with bookshelves. The other – a window to the front yard, open a crack to let a small breeze in, rustling the papers on the coffee table. Brett glanced over them – various notes in a scratchy handwriting.

“Uh, what, you want food?” Aleks was saying, and Brett looked over. He was hunched over Mishka as she pawed at his sneakers, whining. He watched them with soft amusement.

“I do,” he offered as a joke.

Aleks looked up at him.

-

Half an hour later, they were sitting in the backyard. Literally. Aleks had coerced him into sitting on a little hill in the garden in the midst of tall grass, facing the orchard that looked in surprisingly good shape considering the current state of ownership. He looked down at the bowl in his hand (burning it, actually), and dug his spoon into it. Aleks had managed to put together rice and salad in a bowl; although he burnt the rice. It was okay.

Aleks had placed an old stereo in the grass. It was playing a soft song, too quiet to hear entirely, but he picked up on a few notes. It sounded nice. Possibly a cover of something. Whatever.

He looked over to Aleks, grass tickling his face. Aleks was sat up, a short contrast to Brett’s reclined state, staring straight ahead. Mishka was playing in the orchard, probably chasing birds or whatever dogs do.

“Why haven’t you arrested me yet?” Aleks’ voice is soft enough that Brett wonders if he said anything at all.

“What? I mean,” and then he stops, hand loosely clasping his spoon. “I don’t know.”

“You have evidence, man. More than enough.”

“I guess,” Brett says, suddenly uncomfortable.

Aleks sneaks a look over to him.

“You like me.”

Brett tenses, and considers walking away. But he’s a man now. He has a doctorate. Almost. So he stays put. “You like me too, though.”

“Sure,” Aleks replies, but it’s not sarcastic, not in the slightest.

“Okay. So, like. What’d you wanna do about that?” Brett stiffly asks, but before he can even finish, Aleks is rolling onto his side, eyes gleaming in the grey sky and the beginning of moonlight. He puts his bowl down. Brett does the same. Aleks shuffles up ever so slightly, no doubt getting grass stains on his brown pants, until his face is close to Brett’s and a hand is on his jaw.

It takes everything in him not to flinch.

They linger there for a moment, teetering. Feeling each other’s presence. Aleks sticks his tongue out and it grazes Brett’s bottom lip. _Gross_ , he nearly says, but his body speaks before his mouth does and suddenly he’s leaning forward so that their lips graze each other, barely touching. They’re at a standstill, both too stubborn to move any closer. Then Aleks moves, tilting Brett’s head just so and pressing the softest kiss on his lips, teeth grazing each other’s. He’s barely aware of Aleks shifting closer and moving one leg to sit on one of Brett’s legs, his knee between the two. His hands move to brace themselves on either side of Brett, who moves his hands to run circles with his thumbs over the dips of Aleks’ waist.

Brett moves away, and just looks. Aleks is pretty like this, face flushed and moonlight bouncing off his features. Mishka barks in the background.

And yeah, maybe Aleks has to leave early the next morning. Maybe he’ll leave a note with a smiley face on the counter. Maybe there will be a politician’s assassination in the newspaper. Maybe Brett won’t be able to focus on cinematography and screenwriting because all he can see is Aleks’ eyes; Aleks, who never returns. Who calls Brett, now a proud holder of a doctorate, just once, nearly exactly a year later, exchanging soft greetings and small talk. He doesn’t mind. Because for four seasons, he knew Aleks well enough to love him like he had never loved anyone before.

He said so to him on the phone, hiding in the bathroom whilst Lindsey burnt the carrots Brett was meant to be supervising.

There was a crackle on the line. He suspected Aleks was somewhere abroad.

“Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может, В душе моей угасла не совсем; Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит; Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.” He says.

Brett frowns. “What?”

Aleks sighs. “It’s a, uh. A poem. My grandma had a fuckin’ sign of it, or whatever,” and then he sighs. “I loved you, and I probably still do, And for a while the feeling may remain, But let my love no longer trouble you, I do not wish to cause you any pain. Or somethin’ like that.”

Aleks mumbles something about it being _cheesy as fuck_. Brett tells him he doesn’t mind. That he likes it.

They exchange goodbyes.

When Lindsey and Asher are too busy joking about the burnt chicken to notice, Brett cries into his mashed potatoes.

He doesn’t think he’ll love anyone ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh henlo dwid u enjwoy thwis? uwu  
> yeah no this is cheesy as fuck and it took me like a week bc school hhh. and i didn't even proofread it. no proofreading we die like men  
> but yeah!!!  
> get at me on tumblr @powellio
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!


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